Read The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) for Free Online Page A

with me in one of the
private rooms.   I may be biased … but Sinclair’s
offers the best French food in this land of over-cooked beef and blood
pudding.’

 
    ~   *   *   ~   *   *   ~

THREE

 
    Two evenings later in a cramped rented house in
Kensington, Caroline Maitland sat at her mirror trying to ignore her mother’s
unending stream of useless advice while her youngest half-sister finished
putting up her hair in a style which didn’t suit her in the least, needed hair
which would retain a curl for more than half an hour and felt horribly
insecure.   As for the gown, it was an over-trimmed
disaster in an unfortunate shade of yellow which had clearly been meant for a
seventeen-year-old wisp of a brunette – all of which added up to sartorial
catastrophe on top of another hellish evening.
    She murmured, ‘I think it’s slipping, Sylvia.   Perhaps a few more hairpins?’
    ‘It’s fine.   Any more of ’em and you’ll not be able to hold your head up.’
    Caroline sighed and thought longingly of an early
night with a book.
    Mama’s monologue was punctuated from time to time
by her other sister reading snippets from some society magazine.   Neither conversation had anything to do with
the other and Caroline’s head was already beginning to ache.
    ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.   A plain Mister or an Honourable won’t do, our
Caro.   No – nor even a knight or a
baronet.   They sound grand enough but,
from what I can make out, they’re not out of the top drawer.   You can do much better’n that. And if we’re
to find well-to-do gentlemen for Lavvy and Syl, you need a husband with a proper title.   A Peer of the Realm – so that means you’ve to
land a Baron, at the very least.’
    Not for the first time, Caroline wondered why –
having endowed her three daughters with pretty names, Mama persisted in
abbreviating them to something horrible.
    ‘It says here that pale turquoise is the most
fashionable colour of the season ’cos of Her Grace of R. wearing it to the
Cavendish House ball,’ said Lavinia. And, looking up, ‘Who’s the Duchess of R.,
Caro?’
    ‘You must’ve met some peers,’ grumbled Mama. ‘If you haven’t, I’d like to know what
Lady Brassington is doing to earn her money.   And I wish you’d pay more attention. I reckon we’d have had a few
callers by now if you tried being a bit more pleasant.’
    ‘It says pale turquoise but the book’s two months old so that mightn’t be true any
more.   Look about you tonight, Caro, and
see if it is or not.’
    ‘And after the education you’ve had and the
fortune your Grandpa Maitland is settling on you, I don’t see any reason why
you shouldn’t get a Viscount or even an Earl.   You may not be much to look at but there must be some of them better
sorts who need to marry money.’
    Caroline winced.   Whoever had first said ‘Truth hurts’ had known what they were talking
about.   The situation was simple
enough.   Her father had died when she was
four and Mama had re-married.   But
Grandfather Maitland had maintained an interest in his only grandchild, paid
for her education and promised a dowry of one hundred thousand pounds on the
day she married.   By contrast, Lavinia
and Sylvia, issue of Mama’s second marriage to Mr Haywood and also now
fatherless, had nothing.   Consequently, Mama
had decided it was Caroline’s duty to Save the Family by making a Good Match.  
    In essence, Caroline didn’t mind this.   Or not much, anyway.   Owing to Grandpa Maitland’s unshakeable
conviction that girls shouldn’t be married off straight out of the school-room,
she was making her debut at the advanced age of twenty-two.   This meant that she no longer had any silly,
romantic illusions about being swept off her feet by a dashingly handsome
fellow – noble or otherwise. She knew she was no great beauty and that the only
reason any titled gentleman would marry a girl who came from a